A little girl, his daughter, was leaning against the coffin⁠—her face looking so worn and thoughtful, poor mite! Do you know, I cannot bear to see a child look thoughtful. On the floor there lay a rag doll, but she was not playing with it as, motionless, she stood there with her finger to her lips. Even a bonbon which the landlady had given her she was not eating. Is it not all sad, sad, Barbara?

Makar Dievushkin.